The Art Of Lying
by LeahxLeah
Summary: Harvey is one of the best liars on the planet, and only a few people can see through his charade. Mike is slowly becoming one of those people. Mike/Harvey.
1. Chapter 1

The Art Of Lying

LeahxLeah

There is a certain grace that comes with telling an effective lie—maybe it's conveyed in the way the false story is told, or the way those simple false words turn people in malleable things you can shape in what you please. Perhaps it's how those brief or lengthily sentences are uttered; possibly it's the way the liar stands while fabricating the facts, or how they let each syllable roll off of their tongues.

Every human being has been given the skill of lying; no one on the planet was born with a heavy tongue that could only speak the truth. People tell the truth for the sake of ethics, and claim it's in their nature to do so.

But the best kind of liars can go against their nature—can fight the voice in their head that shrieks the reality while their mouths calmly state the untruth. These liars become compulsive, and rarely are honest. They fail to realise the potential that being authentic has on certain occasions, and become known as liars, thus ruining the delicacy of their art.

Harvey Specter is one of the best liars on the planet.

He has no tells—nothing he does pinpoints whether or not he's being honest. His voice doesn't peak, his palms never sweat, and his heartbeat stays firmly and consistently steady. Nothing about him screams honesty, however, but nothing announces that he's a professional silver tongue, either. He keeps himself in the best condition—he's always well groomed, well dressed and well presented, and perhaps that leads people to think he would be an amicable man.

His coworkers, to some extent, know better. They think of him as too smooth, too chiselled to possibly be a candid person, although trust him more than they do Louis. The more youthful associates would take to heart any scripted sentence he read to them, believing that someone as prestigious as Harvey _had _to be telling the truth; otherwise he would have failed at his career a lot sooner.

His senior associates knew that Harvey was a master manipulator—they'd seen him take an impossible case and flip it in his favour so quickly that the prosecution would get whiplash. Yes, angling situations to make heroes look like villains and villains heroes was often very useful in a legal profession, and sometimes, if he sold the story right, at the end of the day even he could believe the words that had come out of his mouth.

In truth, that was the best kind of lie. The ones that even the liar believes to be the truth.

Harvey had many of these lies he had told so often that they quickly became his personal truth—_I don't care about the client, I don't care about other people. I don't care about the client, I don't care about other people. I don't care about the client. I don't care about other peop—_

_Mike._

And then, just like that, Mike Ross stepped ever-so-casually into his life and he had to add yet another list of lies that he had to tell just to make it through every day.

_Mike went to Harvard. _Lie.

_Mike was brilliant there; in fact. He aced the bar exam multiple times and shocked me with his memorisation skills. _Truth.

_Of course Mike can fill out a subpoena. _Lie.

_Mike's a good lawyer. _Truth.

_He would've been hired somewhere else if we didn't take him. _Lie.

_What? No, he doesn't remind me of myself._ Lie.

_He's just my associate. There's nothing more, nothing less to our relationship._ Truth.

_I don't care about Mike. _

And oh, wasn't that just the biggest lie of them all?

All of these bitter words he'd uttered hundreds of times in front of the mirror, adjusting to the foul taste in his mouth. He'd run his tongue casually over his teeth in private, desperately trying to scrape off the flavour of rancorous statements that made Donna scowl at him, Jessica sigh and Mike hang his head. There was something to be said about the way the latter reaction, out of all of them, made him feel the worst.

He still told the blatant lies like they were the truth, and only the sinking sensation in his stomach ever gave away what they really were. It didn't really matter, though, because no one could feel it except for him, and his most used poker face hid him from discovery. He was good. He was very good. In fact, he was superlative within his own art.

But he hadn't thought, on this particular day, that far ahead.

He should have known that Mike would've been the first person to pick up on his charade, to notice how smoothly he bluffed to the opposition and their clients in meeting rooms and in his glass office.

Today, in particular, Mike noticed how smoothly he fed the other firm's witness a load of crap.

"As a matter of fact, Ms. Elliott, we know that this lawsuit has nothing to do with the falsifying of record's within your husband's firm, as there are no falsified records that anyone within the company—save for yourself, of course—had touched. This is entirely about your husband's affair with his secretary."

"What!" she spluttered. "No—no, I, uh—"

Harvey silenced her with a firm look. "If you continue to pursue this suit, it won't end well for you."

Ms. Elliot looked queasy, and Mike couldn't help but notice her attorney looked the same way. The pair of them seemed to suddenly not fit in their expensive clothing, and Mike shot an appreciative look in Harvey's direction, wondering at what point he'd learned about the affair. As far as he knew, Harvey had been in his office the entire time Mike searched for actual falsified records, except for the sole occasion the two of them had spoken to Mr. Elliot.

After fifteen minutes of tears and confessions—which came exclusively from Ms. Elliot—Mike found himself tailing Harvey closely down the executive hallway of the company's building that they had met in.

Harvey's pace was swift, and Mike had to break into a slight jog to keep up with him. Mike wasn't sure, but he thought he heard a soft chuckle and a murmur of something along the lines of, "Short legs," as he desperately tried to keep up.

"Slow down, Harvey!" Mike panted, and Harvey slowed his pace by about a step, smirking confidently at Mike.

"No point, kid. We've got places to be, and other cases. Being late _does not_ look good, especially since they're hiring us and not the other way around," he said, his voice deep and a hint of a smile still curling on his face.

"Yeah, sure, okay—but how did you know that Mr. Elliot was having an affair with his secretary?"

"I didn't."

Mike stopped, mid-stride, his mouth hanging slightly open in shock. Harvey smiled, quickly pulling out his phone and snapping a picture before Mike had a chance to regain his composure. This time Harvey made no attempt to smother his grin, revealing a set of perfect teeth as he said, "Oh, the things photo shop will do with this one…"

"You lied," Mike said softly, snapping his mouth shut and looking down at the carpet he'd been treading on with wide eyes. "You said you didn't—"

"Commit perjury. I don't. This, on the other hand, was just forging the truth a slight bit. Not even a blatant lie, actually," he said casually, scrolling through his schedule on his phone.

"Oh, yeah?" asked Mike. "How is there any truth in what you told Ms. Elliot?"

"Well, I knew her husband planned on leaving her, and that was long before the lawsuit. He didn't have any pictures of her on his desk, but he did have some of his secretary, though. She's a smart woman, despite her attempt at legal repercussions, and she would've noticed that, hence the reason I brought that up."

"Were they actually having an affair?" Mike queried, confusion still written blatantly on his facial features.

"No."

"Then…why was he leaving her?"

Harvey snorted, pocketing his phone and continuing his confident stride down the hallway with Mike in tow. "Would you like a list of reasons?" He spoke again without waiting for Mike to answer, listing them off his fingers.

"One—she was a cat person."

"What's wrong with being a cat person?" retaliated Mike. Harvey sent him a look that clearly read, _we'll talk about this later._

"Two—she was rich, but still drove a Golf."

"Not everyone's into cars!" argued Mike, gesturing wildly.

Harvey frowned, raising his eyebrows at Mike, and then lifted another finger. "Three—she got jealous over her husband's _secretary._ Don't disagree with me on this one; secretary's organise their boss's lives. They know everything there is to know about the people they work for. Would you really want to be with someone if you knew everything about them?" he asked.

"That's generally part of being married, Harvey," said Mike.

"Meh. Four—she tried to sue him for an affair he didn't have."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

"Out of all the things I've come up with, this is the only one you agree on? I would've thought you'd be all over the 'think of how she must feel, Harvey' crap you usually are full of."

"I don't appreciate the fact that you gave your impersonation of me a high pitched voice."

"When you try to do me you sound like a gremlin, so don't get all offended." Harvey retorted, opening the door and stepping out onto the busy street, which was bathed in sunlight.

"I don't try to 'do' you—"

"—shut up," Harvey said, cutting him off. "Five—he was gay."

"Wait, what? How the hell did you come up with that?" asked Mike.

"It was obvious," Harvey said, his voice as smooth as the pavement he was walking on.

"I had no idea my model of asshole lawyer came with built in gay-dar," Mike responded sarcastically.

Harvey shrugged off the comment, a small smirk tugging on his pale mouth. "Do you really want to know?"

"Yeah," said Mike, glaring accidentally at Harvey due to a bright reflection of the sun from behind him.

Harvey subconsciously held his breath, taking in the sight of the younger man before him. Mike's skin, usually a tone or two lighter than his own, seemed to just glow in the warmth of the midday sun, and a million fantasies in which he could run his tongue and his fingers over the delicate flesh sprang to mind. He swallowed subtly, and was glad Mike had his eyes practically closed so he couldn't bear witness to the pure azure that he knew he could easily get lost in.

"I used you," he says, truth ejecting from his mouth a though it was a prisoner finally being set free.

"How?" Mike asked, his head cocked slightly in confusion, and Harvey bit back a facial expression from appearing on his features yet again as the 'puppy' metaphor he'd used to describe Mike previously crossed his mind.

"Really, Mike, are you that dumb?" The truth was freely flowing now, and despite the way his teeth were digging into his tongue he couldn't seem to stem it. "Kid, you're practically jail bait. Every client that's attracted to men ends up staring at you as though you're the holy grail, and Mr. Elliot was no exception. He kept looking at your ass so intently I thought he was going to burn holes through your pants."

He was a heartbeat away from saying, _you're good looking, Mike. You're so good looking it's not fair. Especially for me, since I have to stand around all day and stare at you._

"I'm not jail bait!" exclaimed Mike. "I'm perfectly legal!"

"They still ask for your ID every time you buy alcohol though, am I right?"

"No! Well, not _every_ time…"

Harvey laughed, the sound rich and throaty, catching Mike's attention.

"Come on, jail bait, we have to go," he said, climbing into the back of the car that had just pulled up, greeting Ray as he gestured for Mike to go around. He leaned back, adjusting until he was comfortable on the black leather seats.

Mike grinned, hurrying around the back of the car and opening the door, ungracefully clambering into the seat beside Harvey.

"If I were you, I'd pull away quick; I think some people thought you were a pedophile abducting me."

"Yeah, because that would be hard—all I'd have to do would be offer you red bull and you'd climb in the car willingly." Harvey frowned. "Actually, you'd probably do that for anyone with that…disgusting sports beverage. God, my mouth tastes bad just saying the words. From now on, you're staying away from white vans."

"'Cause you're afraid of losing me?"

"Naturally. How else could I tell the sexuality of our clients?"

"Maybe it's because—deep, deep down—you care about me?"

Harvey chuckled again, placing a small smile on his face and stretching the skin around so it seemed believable. He crinkled the corners of eyes, then replied, ever-so-causally,

"Ha. Don't get your hopes up, kid."

Somewhere within him Harvey heard the small voice that whispered, _lie._

OoOoO

**Um, hi. (Looks nervously out into the darkened internet). *clears throat* I've travelled here from the distant lands of other fandoms, and have decided, after reading many fanfictions, to write Suits for the first time.**

**So my characters may be crap, and my dialogue awful, but I'll only know if you give me feedback. Chances are it will get better in later chapters as I improve my pacing.**

**Thanks for reading, and I'd really appreciate if you let me know what you thought.**


	2. Chapter 2

Good lies are told with confidence, the same way good deals are made when the salesperson believes their own pitch. Harvey spent countless hours at Harvard in front of the mirror, learning exactly how to tilt his head a certain way to make him look sad, angry, shocked, overjoyed and predatory. The first time he found himself in a courtroom, he put two of these faux emotions into play.

He knew not to overdo it; it was a mistake so many young actors made that ended their careers before they fully had a chance to develop one. It was all about the little things—his posture, his ticks, his abated breaths—and where he chose to insert them.

When the witness said something that supported the opposition that he was already aware of, he'd chew on the interior of his cheek and run a finger over the tip of his nose. These were actions so small that the judge couldn't see them from his podium, but on the other side of the courtroom, the contrasting attorney who was watching for these things raptly, grinned in glee.

He'd given them the rope, but more often than not they hung themselves with it, instead of fastening something useful. It was almost amusing to watch them flail when they discovered that his subtle lack of poker face meant they lost the case, and hilarious when they left the room with their faces cold and a tick in their jaws.

Some people weren't born with the ability to keep their façades stoic while their brains whirled desperately fast in an attempt to find an answer, but there was a solution for them too. If they found it too difficult to look entirely passive, then instead they could put on feelings for show that were the exact opposite of what they were experiencing.

"Holy crap," muttered Harvey under his breath, listening to the words reverberate off of the darkened glass walls of his office. Everyone had gone home except for him and Mike, who was buried under a pile of paperwork. "I should write a book on this stuff."

Except, of course, doing that would mean telling the truth, and that was infinitely more difficult than lying.

He stood up and strode towards the window, watching as the rain poured down in a matter that reminded him of the dramatic scenes in comic books, where the hero would stand on the rooftop and watch their city while carrying on an introverted conversation. It was disappointing that he didn't have a costume, but he thought he was more like Batman in a suit than in spandex anyways.

The customary knock at the door wasn't needed; there was only one person besides the cleaner that could've approached his office, and he doubted Maria wanted to spend time with him anyways.

"Pretending to be Captain Kirk on the Enterprise, again?" Mike asked, and Harvey could hear the grin in his tone without having to turn around, but he did nonetheless.

He always was breathless when he got taken by surprise by Mike's smiles; they carried this pure, unadulterated joy that seemed to fill whatever room he was in with a lightness that not even lead could have weighed down. His eyes shone with it, and it lightened the burden of everyone who so much as glanced his way when his face split in two and he cracked his signature smile.

"As much as you might like to envision me in skin tight clothing, no, I wasn't."

Mike's smile grew. "Was it…Spiderman?"

"Batman, now say whatever it is that's making your metaphorical tail wag so I can go save Gotham," he responded dryly.

"You really are a closeted nerd, aren't you? You should just come out about it, Harvey. You stay in there much longer you're going to find Narnia," Mike said cheekily, moving from the doorway into the room, and then flopping gracelessly on the couch.

A small voice inside Harvey's head made a snarky remark about Harvey being closeted in a very different way, and he snarled internally at it until it was silent.

"Maybe I'm a nerd—" he held up a solitary finger to silence Mike, "—maybe. But if that's the case you're an even bigger one."

Mike raised his eyebrows, his grin dying down to a smirk. "Oh yeah? How so?"

"You're the one who brought up Narnia."

Mike smirked, "You have a glass elevator."

"You _don't _have a glass elevator," retaliated Harvey.

"You call yourself a 'vehicle enthusiast'. Hell, that makes even liking cars sound lame."

"Actually, it makes liking cars classy, and at least I don't ride my bike in my suit like I still live in someone's basement."

"I don't live in anyone's basement, thank you very much!"

Harvey found himself snorting in laughter, and the weight that seemed to have been sitting on his chest since Mike entered the room lightened temporarily. Mike's eyes gleamed enough to compete with his teeth, and Harvey found himself savouring the sweetness of those slight dimples that formed just past the corners of Mike's mouth. Something pulled within him, and he wondered how many other people had spotted that smile and longed to press their lips to it. Dozens. Hundreds. Given the number of people in New York, that had just seen him in passing on the street? The number was likely in the thousands.

Somehow, though, he meant more than all of them combined to Mike, who sat on his couch and grinned exclusively at him, leaving him feeling like he was fifteen again and falling in love for the first time.

"Why'd you move me?" Mike asked.

"Move you?" Harvey questioned, cocking an eyebrow. He was vaguely surprised at how quickly Mike's brain worked, and how he'd recognised something Harvey had pulled behind the scenes as opposed to just a random shift.

"My cubicle. It's closer to your office and further away from the other associates now. Why'd you move me?"

"I had nothing to do with it," Harvey said smoothly, sitting across from Mike and folding his fingers on his lap.

Mike paused, and suddenly the smile was gone from his face, leaving Harvey feeling cold and hollow on the inside. Something had shifted in his associates gaze, and they no longer held the gleam that Harvey was willing to chase to the end of the world—suddenly they seemed deeper and more soulful, like they could see through the nine inch thick barriers Harvey had placed around himself.

The words that came next practically drained the life from him.

"You really have a problem, don't you?"

Harvey blinked once, then instantly slid into a mask of shock and confusion. "What are you talking about, kid?"

_Please, please don't say 'how you feel about me'. Pleasepleasepleaseplease—_

"Lying, Harvey. Lying. You know, not telling the truth?" asked Mike.

"What are you—" Harvey tried, but the words seemed to stick on his tongue.

"It didn't bother me at first—you know, like saying the occasional thing to a client for the greater good, but right there? Thirty seconds ago? You lied, straight to my face, about nothing important. "

A thickness filled the room; the kind that not even a knife could cut through, and suddenly the cleaners distant footsteps were audible down the hall. Water continued to tap against the window frequently, but was completely ignored by the people on the other side of the glass, who were too lost in one another's gaze that they failed to notice the world around them. Neither moved, simply sitting and assessing the person across from them as though hoping that somehow the answers would suddenly appear in front of them.

Harvey's voice was lost, trapped inside his throat. His face flitted through emotions, desperately trying to find one to fit the occasion—shock, horror, anger, sadness—in the end they all seemed to melt off of his features and were futile on Mike's hardened face. None of these well-crafted faces would please him either so Harvey surrendered, letting the emotion he was actually feeling control his features, and he reclined into the chair, his face weary.

"Are you going to say anything?" asked Mike, his tone flat.

Harvey let a hand drift across his face, the slight callous of his fingers catching on his features, but not enough to distract him from the problem seated on his leather couch.

"What do you want me to say? You got me?"

"Everything. I trust you. More than anyone, actually, no matter how many times you lie to me, or bullshit about not caring. Even if you don't really give a damn about me—"

"Mike, I—"

"—I do about you. And I know how this shit ends; you tell one lie too many, and you start losing faith in the truth. I don't want you to end up washed out because you're not sure what's real and what you made up. You need to be honest with someone, especially if you can't stop lying, otherwise you'll lose your mind."

Harvey stopped, looking at the associate in front of him, expecting any minute for him to wake up and shake off another haunting dream. "So let me get this straight—you want me to just…what, fess up? Make you my confidant? Tell you all my deep, dark secrets? Lighten my burden, make me feel better about myself—" he felt the cold bite to his words and Mike's flat tone did nothing to sooth the sudden drop in the room's temperature.

"Start by cutting out the sarcastic crap. You use jokes and witty lines as diversions; I've seen you do it before," he said, blue eyes meeting brown, allowing Harvey a gaze into the cobalt abyss he thought heaven might look like.

"Look, Mike, I appreciate the concern, but _I don't have a problem._ Yes, I lie. I manipulate people and situations to my advantage, and I do it often." He couldn't stop the words now, couldn't stop how smoothly they rolled off of his tongue and into the air, couldn't halt the smooth tone that had leaked into their texture. "But I don't have a problem. It's just my personality, honestly."

Mike looked down, focusing his gaze on the carpet and chewing on his lip, depriving Harvey of all view of him except for the top of his head. A hand wound its way through Mike's hair, ruffling up the slightly unruly strands, and something inside of Harvey immediately wished that the hand could have belonged to him and not Mike—that he could be petting the duckling-like strands that seemed to glow in the slightest amount of natural light.

"Bull," Mike said, looking up again.

"I look up to you, and I love your personality. I like how cocky you are, how you carry yourself a head above everyone else—and in spite of those things, you still manage to stay playful and young. You're—you're my boss. And I understand that you have flaws, but deceiving everyone you meet isn't one of them. It's a problem, and something fixable. It's not who you are."

Harvey's ears picked up on the phrase, _I love your personality, _and he couldn't help but run it through his head at a million different sequences and speeds as his heart spluttered failingly in his chest.

"I don't understand how it affects you," he said, his poker face unchanged.

"You lie to me, too, Harvey."

"When? Name an instance—before today."

"March," Mike stated.

"March?" asked Harvey. "When in March?"

"You told me, around the beginning of the month, that you didn't care about me. Unfortunately for you, this was after you walked into a room full of armed men—without a weapon—to make a deal, because you thought that was what was best for my safety. That's the very definition of caring."

"You're a good assoc—"

"That wasn't why you did it. If that was your only reason, you could've hired someone else to go in for you. But no, you directly risked your safety for mine. Kind of sounds to me like you _care_," he said.

_No, really,_ the voice in Harvey's head retorted sarcastically. _Just a little bit?_

"Well, I obviously wasn't thinking clearly at the time—"

"—because you cared so much—"

"—oh, yeah? How do you know it's not Trevor I cared about? Maybe that's my deep, hidden secret," said Harvey, smirking to himself.

"The same way you know I'm not madly in love with Louis."

A brief silence filled the office.

"Thank you, Mike, for that incredibly disturbing thought."

"Besides that, I've heard you call him 'the antichrist' on multiple occasions."

"Maybe that's my nick-name for him," argued Harvey.

"Even if it was, the day you came back from saving him, you made fun of his eyebrows for three hours afterwards."

"I make fun of your skinny ties for much longer than that. Hell, you're my only non-offensive ice-breaker joke at company parties."

Mike chuckled at the joke, not caring in the slightest that it was at his own expense, and Harvey felt that pull in his chest yet again that told him, _you don't just like the kid, Specter; you're half in love with him._ He blinked at the words, but then pushed them to the back of his mind as he thought of the situation that was nearly impossible to sidestep in front of him.

He sent Mike a levelled look, and his puppy ceased to bark playfully and lapsed into serious silence.

"Do you, Mike? Do you actually care about me? Am I honestly on the list of people you would buy Christmas presents for, someone you'd write a speech for at their funeral?" he asked, and his phrases seemed to blacken and char as they left his mouth.

"Yes."

"Because what you're asking me—it's more than what I would ever tell anyone. If I were to tell you the truth about everything about me, just pour my heart out to you like you were an expensive therapist, you couldn't 'un-hear' it. It would change how you'd see me, you realise."

"Yes," Mike repeated, a nod following the word.

"You'd stop looking up to me."

"You're an inch taller than me."

"I meant metaphorically."

"Metaphorically, you could blow up half the city and I'd still see you as Batman," Mike said, then frowned. "Crap, that was really corny."

"Yes," Harvey said with a straight face, "yes, it was. Nonetheless, would you still like me to tell you, knowing all the things it entails?"

Mike stared firmly into the warm brown of Harvey's eyes, memorising how they looked before his boss decided to change what he knew about the other man, and nodded.

"Alright, then. Where would you like me to start?"

OoOoO

**So, so sorry for the delay! I hate the holidays for depriving me of a chance to write :/**

**Still, not really a good excuse. As an apology, I'll have the next chapter up by the 27****th****, I promise!**

**A big thank you to all those who reviewed—some of your comments honestly made my week(s).**

**A special shout out goes to Lady Yevon, for reviewing first, Pocket Pamela, for making me blush (you aren't creepy, you're awesome), Aerilex, for welcoming me, hana-to-mame, because I've been reading your work for a few weeks and felt so special that you commented, and finally, JJLiberty for making me feel worthy! **

**Thanks so much everyone! As previously, you're thoughts mean the world to me, so feel free to call me on anything. I think I preferred the first chapter to this one, personally.**

**Happy Eid (I'm sure I phrased that wrong, sorry), Kwanza, Hanukah and Christmas! **

**LeahxLeah**


	3. Chapter 3

Silence is often underestimated as a tool for telling an effective story.

While the absence of speech, noise and actions say nothing, their lack of use does. Both the liar and the person being deceived can receive and deflect messages without ever opening their mouths, can tell tales so grand and majestic with just their eyes and facial expressions. This is when the true actor is revealed in the liar, because if they don't have this ability, silence will unravel their delicate plot, and expose them as a fraud.

Harvey is all too aware that he's a good actor—he's manipulated almost everyone he's ever met, except for the lucky acquaintances he only sees in passing that escape his sickly sweet trap.

And that's how he feels about himself right now, like he's one of those repugnant tropical flowers that draw in innocent flies with a too heady scent. As though he weren't the almighty Harvey Specter that individuals worldwide coveted, but just a man that had an ill-acquired crush on a younger colleague, just a magician throwing away his secrets.

While Harvey is one of the best liars in the world, he never uses silence as a tactic to weave his untruths. It's not that he can't pull it off; he's done it a handful of times with success. If he did choose to add it to his repertoire, there wouldn't likely be a person in the world he couldn't manipulate. No, there was little he couldn't do in terms of convincing people of things not real—but he specifically chose not to stay silent. He'd hold his breath, pause, lick his lips, look off into the distance, but he'd never stay quiet for several minutes.

For Harvey, the phrase that had been used in so many different contexts was law—silence was golden. It was the only time he didn't have to wrap his tongue around bitter words, or sugar-coat sentences. He could snap his weary jaw shut and relax his facial features, turn off the added expression or the depth in his eyes and simply just fade into the shell of a human being he was. The only time he felt he was being truly honest was when he said nothing at all.

As he sits in front of Mike and reclines into the soft leather chair, he lets that sought-after silence wash over him. This is the only way he can ensure to himself that he will actually tell the truth, that he won't bury lies with another layer of lies. It's also the only way he can stop the panic in his chest, because at some point he recognises that Mike will ask the right question and Harvey will have to tell him how he feels about his prodigy.

He watches the particles of dust caught unaware by the overhead lights hitting them at the right angle, keeping his gaze rapt on their slow dance that fluctuates throughout the room.

Mike breaks the silence first. "You alright?"

Harvey's voice comes out thick and gravelly, and he's not adjusted to the different tone compared to the usually silky smooth one that flows from his lips. "Yeah," he croaks out.

Mike makes a small noise akin to a chuckle, which he follows with, "We haven't even started yet and you're already lying."

"Hmm," mutters Harvey. "Fine, then. I'm tired. Exhausted, even. How about you?"

"Not bad, I guess."

"A decade from now you'll know how I feel, and you'll laugh at me for trying to keep up with you," he said, a smile turning up on the corner of his lips, his warm brown eyes still fixed on the ceiling.

"Have you ever lied about your age?" asked Mike, starting small in his search for the truth.

"Naturally," He said, realising a heartbeat after Mike wanted him to expand. "When I was eighteen I pretended to be twenty-one, and when I was twenty-one I pretended to be older so I could be taken more seriously. Now I just pretend to be younger."

"Why?"

"Look around, Mike. People in this business are practically immortal. Check out Jessica—well, don't actually 'check her out', but look at her—she hasn't aged a day since I met her."

Mike smiled. "She's a woman. As far as I'm concerned, science doesn't apply to them. Take a look at Louis—time hasn't exactly been kind to him, overall."

"Nah, he looked like that a decade ago when he started working here. Having a stick up your ass generally tends to obscure your face. Do you have another question, or are you honestly just absorbed in my age?" He asked, feeling the words stick in his throat.

Telling the truth seemed to be difficult to do after an extended period of time of lying, and Harvey hadn't calculated this into his original plan.

Well, technically he didn't have a plan, but he was going to pretend like he had premeditated Mike's bold dive into his psyche.

"What have you lied to Jessica about?" Mike asked, his eyes locked on Harvey's jaw as the older man diverted his gaze.

"What haven't I lied to her about? 'Why yes, of course I'm working on the pro-bono case. No, I don't irritate Louis on purpose. I'm not patronising you. Naturally Mike is fully qualified for this position.'"

Harvey caught the grin forming on Mike's mouth that he was desperately trying to repress, and found himself mimicking the expression. He couldn't help himself when it came to the kid; that smile was the highlight of his day and he would fork over his entire life savings at times just to see it. On the days Mike worked with Louis he found a distinct melancholy settled in his chest, and suddenly the world outside the wide expanse of window's that was his office seemed grey and bitter.

He stood up, continuing the list of lies he spoke to Jessica on a daily basis.

"Remember that associate you had the mock trial with? Somehow, Jessica came under the impression that he was sexually harassing our secretaries."

Mike grinned fully, showing those rows of white teeth and allowing a pink flush to crawl over his cheeks slightly as he glanced down at the carpet. Harvey tilted his head to catch a glimpse of the dimple he loved, and beamed in satisfaction when he saw it.

"You know you don't have to—" started Mike.

"-yes I do," finished Harvey, his eyes soft and turned down, locked on Mike's.

It was rare he seemed this human, and exposed, but he figured that if anyone would make him this way it would be the puppy he plucked from the streets a year ago.

"Alright," said Mike, the smile still in place, "what about Donna?"

Harvey smirked. "'Why no, I didn't charge my visits to the strip club to the company's card. Do you really think that little of me?'" he said, putting on a mock hurt face.

Mike laughed, a happy sound that echoed a moment longer than it had stretched for in Harvey's ears.

"'The truth is, Donna, I have been in love before. And yes, it was with a human being! I'm not selfish, I'm just looking out for everyone's best interest. The greater good, and all that. I'm a real giver. In fact, when I die, my will is donating all my basketballs, baseballs, albums, suits and cars to charity.'"

"You have a will?"

Harvey gave him a look. "I'm a lawyer, of course I do. But it doesn't donate my things to charity. Most of those things are going to be buried with me."

"That's—really disturbing, actually, that you thought of all that. Do you often have near death experiences?"

"I almost got hit by a bus once."

"Really?"

"No," he said with a frown and a sigh, rolling his eyes. "It was a car."

Mike raised his eyebrows sceptically. "Really?"

"Okay, okay, it wasn't really a car. It was a Prius."

"That's not a near-death experience, Harvey."

"Touché, kid. Touché."

Mike stretched out on the couch, reaching an arm across the back of the leather seats. Harvey would never tell Mike, but he often thought that his couch loved the associate almost as much as he did. When Mike flopped down on it, it made a sound similar to a cry of joy—when other people attempted the same feat, it simply groaned or remained silent.

Sometimes he swore the thing was smirking at him, as though it was saying—_hah, Specter, I'll probably touch him more than you ever will. _

But he knew he had the upper hand, because he had eyes, and Mike recognised him as a living creature.

"Okay, Louis," Mike stated.

"That list would take all night—here, let's just go with the basics. 'No, Louis, I didn't put a virus on your computer. I didn't steal all the good secretaries, or the associates for that matter. Where did I find Mike? Craigslist.'"

"You told him you found me on Craigslist?"

"It's not my fault you seem like one of the desperate teenage boys that would make an ad for themselves on there."

"I guess it's not my fault he'd buy that you'd go looking for teenage boys on Craigslist."

"Are we really going back to the pedophile jokes?"

"Nah," said Mike cheekily, "I'm legal, so we'll just call you my sugar daddy."

Harvey bit down the voice in his head that was snickering at the images that term brought to mind, especially with Mike saying it. He suppressed a shudder and quickly changed the subject.

"Anything else?"

"Are you kidding me? I'm just warming up."

"Joy," said Harvey dryly.

"What are you most afraid of?"

Harvey swallowed, before quickly rephrasing the words in his head to provide him some secrecy. He rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, preparing to eloquently state what he worried Mike would find out. "The person… I care most about dying."

_Read between the lines here Mike—it's you. I'm never going to say it out loud, no matter how many times you lie on my couch, wear my suits, drink my coffee and smile at me. I'll say it when you leave the room, or murmur it when you can't hear me, but I won't pour my heart out to you. Except inside, where no one but me knows. Only me. _

_Only me. _

Mike tilted his head slightly. "Really? Not the idea of you falling from a plane, or getting shot? Someone else dying?"

"If I get shot, I die. If I fall from a plane, I die. If—if the person I care about most dies, I have to live without them. And that's more terrifying than dying, any day," he said, noticing how gravelly his voice had gone.

"I never took you for a romantic, Harvey." Mike said.

"I'm not," he said, his eyes meeting Mike's. "Just selfish."

"Is that honestly what you think of yourself? Because that sounds more like someone in love than somebody who doesn't give a damn about anyone but themself," Mike said, standing so he was at eye-level with Harvey.

"Yes, it is," he stated.

"Okay, let's rephrase this—would you be scared if this person was hurt? Not fatally, but hurt?" Mike asked, striding towards Harvey with his hands in his pockets.

Harvey paused, deep in thought, his gaze on Mike's shoes.

"Yes," he said, after a moment of silence.

"But if they were hurt, they wouldn't leave you. It's not like they'd be dead, right?"

"There would be the possibility of death."

"What if they were sick? With a cold? Or the flu? Would you care?"

"Yeah," Harvey said. "Because I wouldn't get to see them smile."

"You like it when they smile?"

"Jesus, Mike, what is this? Oprah?" snapped Harvey, getting frustrated. "Yes, I like it when they smile!"

Mike smiled softly. Harvey looked away. "So basically, you like it when they're happy. It makes you happy to see them happy. That's not being selfish; that's empathy, which comes from caring."

Harvey sighed, shaking his head then glancing back at Mike. He scowled.

"Have I ever told you, kid, you'd make a good lawyer?"

"I think we might've discussed it once or twice."

Harvey smiled, looking out at the rain-soaked world beyond the glass pane. Light was reflecting off of the water droplets that seemed to cling to everything, and Harvey's office seemed to glow from certain angles.

"I didn't think I'd get caught," he said.

Mike shrugged. "You're the best, by all means. I just know you."

"You probably know more than most people do, Mike. Which is saying something, because you barely know anything at all. Not the things that matter most, at least."

"I know more than you think."

"Like what, exactly?"

"You lie a lot, Harvey," Mike said, his face earnest and his eyes concerned.

"I think we've already established this—"

"—and you don't tell the truth all that often. But when you do, you look relieved, like all of this has been weighing on you. And when you tell a big lie, or just plain get away with murder, you look smug."

Harvey stayed silent.

"The reason you kept telling me we wouldn't get caught with this," said Mike, gesturing around the room, "was because you haven't gotten caught before. But there's a part of you—and don't shake your head, because I'm right—that wants to tell the truth. I know it's in there; otherwise you would've just shaken me off tonight. If I was anyone else, you would've just lied to them again."

"Yeah," Harvey said, nothing more smooth or complex able to slide out of his throat.

"Why am I different?" he asked.

And that sweet silence filled the room again, this time simultaneously choking and giving Harvey a fresh breath of air. That silence fit into all the cracks, slipped between the two of them, and slid over their skin. It slowed Harvey's rapidly beating heart and the rising and falling of Mike's Adam's apple, it stopped time outside and the quiet noises outside of the two of them.

It clouded and clarified Harvey's judgement—both his right and left brain cancelled one another out all at once. He couldn't think. The only coherent thoughts that came to mind seemed to be drunk, and they swirled around in his blurred mind.

_His eyes are kind of like the colour of sky when it's clear—all blue, solid and trustworthy, like they're never going anywhere, no matter where I end up. That was corny. I'm corny. He makes me corny. But that's okay, because his lips are just a little bit too thin in a way that makes me think they would taste sweet if I ran my tongue over them. They'd be soft, too. It would feel good, smooth flesh against smooth flesh, and would make me want to run my fingers over my lips after. Maybe my hands would wind up in his hair; it would stick up oddly after, like it does after he sleeps at work. _

"I—"he tried, but the thoughts broke through.

_I'd like to know everything about you, kid. I'd like to know all your scars and how you got them, I'd like to know your fears and hopes and dreams. Stupid things, too, like how you like your toast and what you wanted for Christmas when you were five. _

_I'd like to kiss you. Well, okay, more than that, but I'd start there. I'd like to taste the inside of your mouth and hear your heartbeat, would like to become an animal under your fingertips. _

_I'd like to find out what it is about you that makes me risk everything I've worked so hard for just to have you by my side, would like to know why I dream about your breath ghosting across my neck. _

_I used to be so cultured, so civilised—now my tongue feels too heavy for my mouth and my heart to fast for my ribcage._

"I can't—" barely escaped his lips.

_I can't watch you throw it all away, can't bear it when you talk about your life before me. I can't see you look at Trevor—he should know you're mine. I'll never really have you; not that you'll know, anyways, but he should know that I won't let him ruin you. _

_I can't let you know all this, can't spend a day without your presence. Can't watch you walk out that door, can't let you leave me here where I'll just rerun the moments when you were in my company and imagine what I could've done better. _

_I can't spend another night knowing you don't know how I feel._

"You—"

_Are so perfect. If you gave me the chance, I'd do everything right. Everything. I'd show you—_

"Me—"

_But aren't I the real problem? I'm borderline soulless, and you know it. I'm really not the type of person you could fix, not with every pill on the planet or all the time known to mankind. I'm a liar. A liar that pretends his trade is art. _

"We're—"

Mike stood next to his boss, who in all the time he'd known had never been lost for words, was now. Harvey looked at him pleadingly, then wiped the expression off of his face in favour of a firmer one. He bit down on his tongue, desperately trying to get it to behave.

"Give me until tomorrow," he murmured, his eyes locked on Mike's lips.

"Tomorrow." Mike stated, pausing briefly before nodding, running the tip of his tongue over his lips. "Sometime tomorrow."

"Thank you," muttered Harvey, looking exhausted.

"Goodnight, Harvey," said Mike, leaving his boss in the suddenly far too large, dark and empty office.

OoOoO

**I think the length explains the lateness, but sorry all the same! I hope this wasn't too cheesy…:/ I tried.**

**Thanks to those who reviewed on Christmas! I felt extremely flattered. The chapter will be the last, so all feedback is crucial now! I'd like to hear what your ideal ending would be. :D**

**LeahxLeah **


	4. Chapter 4

It takes very little to unravel a lie.

The second a human being projects a story onto an audience of people, there will be those who take the word as gospel, and those who laugh at the ludicrous nature of the suggestion. Some will be indifferent; and some will be forever changed by it, for the better or the worse. Words shape societies internationally, no matter in what language they are spoken in, the context, or what they actually mean. They affect the decisions that each individual makes on a daily basis, or the calls that have to make only once in a lifetime.

Lies are just words, actions, and gestures—not entirely unlike truths, except for their nature. It's as easy to change someone with a truth as it is with a lie, as knowledge, whether false or not, manipulates what people know. A quiet truth, in many instances, could be twelve times as effective as an extravagant lie, and still change the situation to be how you like it.

But each and every piece of truth handed out to the world is a piece of the person themselves—we are our words. Every time someone whispers a secret into someone else's ear they give a hint away about their true nature, or their darkest desires. Due to this, it's much easier just to tell a lie.

However, on every occasion a lie is told, a fragment of the truth slips out with it, embedding itself in the essence of the falsified reality. If someone were to take the time to think over a phrase they know is a lie, to maul it over and over again in their minds, they'd find the shockingly naked veracity amongst all the words. That's the fundamental way in which lies are bought by otherwise smart people—the truth has been slipped under the surface, and they just fail to realise it isn't on the top.

Harvey should have known that out of all the minds of New York, Mike's would be the only one to read that buried truth, to know that Harvey coveted him. But Harvey had underestimated the kid he had quoted to be a younger version of himself, and now he was paying for it.

It was rare for Harvey to find himself so dishevelled, even if it was in the wee hours of the morning as the sun peaked over the city skyline. He was hunched forward on a wooden chair on the balcony of his apartment, watching as the ant-like figures below him woke up and began to scurry across the sidewalk. He never imagined he'd feel like the pissed off eight-year-old wielding a magnifying glass again, but the events that had transpired over the previous hours left him lost and angry.

It was windy out—his suit flapped around him as if it desperately wanted to take flight and leave him behind, but the Italian designer that had supervised the stitching of it made it impossible for that to happen. He was glad for that, as by later in the day tomorrow he thought he'd quite possibly end up losing the only thing that mattered to him outside his personal belongings and career, and he couldn't afford to throw it all away.

The air was moist from the storm that had passed over the concrete and brick buildings last night, and while most of the thick grey clouds had drifted off as the orange clawed at the sky, a few still haunted the corners of Harvey's vision. He didn't want to blink in case they drifted off, because if he mislaid them, he'd lose all evidence of the conversation he had with Mike last night save for the hollow feeling inside his chest.

And as every lawyer knows, feelings weren't good witnesses.

A thin strand of dark brown freed itself from his perfectly styled hair, and his nerves danced as it crossed his forehead in the breeze. It caught the sunlight, glowing lighter against his tan forehead, and he didn't bother to brush it back.

There were many times when he felt like he was growing much older than he actually was; like his bones were made of lead and everything about him was weary. During those moments, he longed for youth and ignorance, longed for that era in which he still knew nothing about the world. Now he felt all too naïve and young, like the world was still a foreign place he'd yet to walk on.

"What do I do?" he asked the empty balcony, but no response came from the tile, the chair or the cityscape that stretched on endlessly in front of him. In all fairness, it would have freaked him out if he'd gotten one.

He couldn't lie anymore, not to Mike anyways—when the kid looked at him and asked for the truth, Harvey knew bone deep he had to give it to him. He hated being so weak in that sense; and yet he was infamously heartless to the people that knew him. Except the kid. The kid who he'd hired because the two of them thought similarly.

Harvey wanted to kick himself, now, thinking of that overused phrase _you can't lie to yourself. _Well, shit. He'd really thrown himself under the bus.

He stood up, and paced the balcony.

_Okay, okay. Just—pretend he's the jury. _

He suddenly remembered his days at the DA's office, and thought of the twelve faces that would stare at him blankly from their seats. He almost cracked up at the thought of twelve Mike's, then realised he was close to being hysterical.

"Mike—you're uh—shit. You're pretty awesome for an associate. I mean, you're annoying as hell, but then you started looking at me like I was your hero, and I became incredibly corny. Out of the blue. I think you should've come with a disclaimer, kid. I'm considering filing a lawsuit."

Harvey ran a hand over his eyes.

"That was awful. Okay—I'm attracted to you."

He paused.

"I sound like I'm trying to pick him up at a bar."

Suddenly, he wished he had more practise with romantic confessions so he wouldn't screw this one up. It was both sad and funny—no one before Mike he'd had emotions for mattered after his puppy had walked into his life.

"If I say 'I love you', I'm going to make both of us uncomfortable. Then Donna will walk in, and she'll be uncomfortable too. Hell, people who didn't even hear us will be uncomfortable. Somethings you don't say outside of the bedroom."

"I'd just kiss you, but then you wouldn't feel the same way, and I'd have to go to court for sexual harassment. Not that I wouldn't win, but it would wreck our work relationship."

"What do you want from me, Mike?" he asked, his voice barely louder than an exhale, turning into a cloud as it exited his mouth.

He hadn't been scared once since he'd met Jessica, yet here he was, alone and mildly cold, terrified of how he'd spend his next sunrise.

OoOoO

Mike couldn't focus.

It was nine o'clock, and although he'd arrived early today, none of the paperwork stacked on his desk had been filled out or filed. He'd turned on his computer, but it had gone into sleep mode after he'd entered his password due to neglect. It now persisted to emit a low, quiet drone that only he could hear from his proximity.

His heart was pounding and his muscles were twitching-his whole body flooded with adrenaline, but he forced it into stillness. He lowered his head so it looked as though he was focusing on the paper in front of him, but it was blank except for where he'd placed the date and his signature. He was playing with the fountain pen he'd snatched off of Harvey's desk when he first came in, drumming it absentmindedly on his grey desk.

When someone walked past, he'd flick his eyes up to see if it was Harvey, and then glance back down intently on his paper as though he was working. He'd been playing that particular game for about two hours now, and having nowhere to vent his frustrations, he was incredibly pissed off at the paper.

It was staring up at him mockingly, as though it was saying, _he's avoiding you. Be realistic, kid, you tried to get him to confess to feelings he's never felt for anyone. He's Harvey Specter, not a Shakespearian character._

Mike almost snorted, but then frowned when he realised the voice he had assigned to the paper sounded eerily like Harvey himself, and checked behind him to make sure it wasn't actually his boss speaking.

He scowled at the empty space.

Mike grabbed the paper and shoved it to the side, pulling another one off the stack and pinching the bridge of his nose as he glanced over it.

Footsteps passed by his cubicle, and he jerked his head up.

Rachel gave him a funny look as he glanced back down again.

OoOoO

Harvey came into work at two o'clock in the afternoon, much to Jessica's chagrin and Louis's annoyance, looking as smooth a svelte as usual, grinning at Donna.

"Good morning, Donna!" he said cheerfully, coffee in hand and a fake smile plastered on his face.

She smirked. "Good luck."

Harvey stopped dead in his tracks, his spine going rigid. "Sorry? I didn't quite catch that."

She raised an eyebrow. "Yes you did. Mike's been waiting here since seven o'clock looking like you accidentally killed his puppy."

Harvey felt his stomach drop.

"I don't know what you did—yet—but fix it," she ordered.

Harvey shifted his face back into a neutral expression, brushed off his pants with one hand and then placed his coffee on Donna's desk.

"In case I don't make it, I want you to have this," he said soberly, patting the red head's hand.

"Thanks," she said sarcastically. "I always wanted your half-finished coffee."

"Half-full," he said with a slight smirk, striding off towards Mike's cubicle.

When Harvey first came to work for Pearson Hardman, he had initially thought of it as one of the largest places he'd ever worked—it stretched for what seemed like miles, the corridors and glass reflecting off one another to give the illusion of a long space. It took him forever to reach his desk, or a neighbour's desk, or Jessica's office.

Now the distance seemed all too short as his most vital organ danced in his chest.

He didn't give Mike much of a greeting when he reached the assigned cubicle, just tapped two fingers against the opaque glass to get the younger associate's attention. Mike lifted his head nonchalantly, trying desperately to look like he was indifferent to Harvey's presence and almost reaching his goal when a grin launched itself on his lips.

"Hey," Mike said, his voice coming out slightly breathless.

Harvey kept his face unreadable, and spoke to Mike in a quiet undertone. "We aren't doing this here," he muttered, crooking his fingers slightly. In a heartbeat he was on his feet, following Harvey swiftly to the elevator.

"I didn't think you would come to work today," Mike said once they were inside, watching as Harvey hit the button for the ground floor and avoided looking at him.

"Me neither."

"Thanks," Mike said appreciatively as he looked up at the older man, trying to make contact with the golden brown gaze and failing.

"Don't say that," Harvey growled, his eyes dark and focused pointedly on the floor.

Mike exhaled through his nose, putting his hands in his pockets and curling them into fists. He shuffled closer to Harvey, brushing their shoulders together and eliminating some of the stiffness in the atmosphere between them. Harvey glanced up and shot Mike a look that a prisoner on death row would have given their guards—a mix between a silent plea and an accusatory glare, with a goodbye punctuating the unspoken sentence.

"Harvey—" Mike tried.

"No." He said firmly. "I am _not _talking about my feelings in a goddamn elevator, Mike. You can forget it."

Mike raised his eyebrows. "I was going to tell you your shoe is untied."

Harvey glanced down, opening his mouth to start to say, "No it's n—" when Mike flicked the tip of his nose. He stepped back, glaring and rubbing the injured facial feature.

"You know what you are?" he asked Mike.

"What?" Mike responded.

"Five years old."

"No."

"Oh? How old are you, then?"

"Eight."

Mike jostled towards Harvey again until they were in close proximity just as the door to the elevator opened, and Harvey found his hand gliding to the small of Mike's back to gently guide him towards the exit. Even the limited contact between skin and fabric sent something electric through his veins, and he was suddenly reminded that he was a very carnal human being beneath his fancy title and expensive suit. He was filled with a mixture of fear and loathing when he caught his reflection—Mike resembled Bambi, with his large blue eyes and innocent smile, and he was the wolf that was pressed all too hungrily to the unalloyed creature.

The two passed silently through the lobby, and Harvey neglected to nod or acknowledge the two security guards conversing quietly over the static feedback from their hand held radios. Neither of the two parties paid any attention to one another, each caught up in their own worlds, much like the rest of the population of the world's largest city. Harvey preferred it that way; he could utter his darkest secrets in a crowd to himself and no one would so much as glance in his direction.

Which was good, as he was about to do just that—except Mike would be listening, and Mike would care. As much as he berated his associate for it, he realised it would be much more painful if Mike listened to his confession and announced that he didn't give a damn. In some ways, he was glad that Mike wasn't his exact image, because if the kid was, Harvey doubted he'd be in this scenario. It occurred to him how this was the first time he'd ever adored someone more than himself, the first time he'd been captivated by something other than a mirror.

He wasn't vain anymore, he realised—well, not to the same extent.

The warm daylight seemed to singe his skin as soon as they stepped outside, like he was made of paper and the sun was a match being held against him. He looked sideways at Mike, who glanced back at him with an edge of knowing in his eyes.

Harvey turned, his shoes hitting the pavement with an elegant clack that only an expensive brand could've given off. Mike's footsteps eagerly chased his, and when Harvey rolled his shoulders he felt the fabric of his suit brush against Mike's.

"Easy, kid," he muttered. "I'm not going anywhere without you."

Mike spaced himself slightly from his boss after that—still close, but not so that he'd trip over Harvey if he decided to stop. He mimicked the evenly paced steps in front of him, as though if he walked the same way Harvey did he'd begin to understand him.

After five minutes of walking, Mike began to wonder where they were going. The people around them bumped them closer and then pulled them apart, as though they were each the end of a piece of rope in a tug-of-war.

Finally, Harvey started speaking over the loud roar of the crowd. "I'm the best closer in the city," he stated, glancing back at Mike, meeting his eyes.

Mike nodded in agreement, latching a hand on Harvey's elbow and letting himself be led out of the congested sidewalk and onto a clearer part of the street.

"The best," Harvey repeated.

"I've been lying since I was about fourteen. No, don't try to calculate how many years ago that was—let's just say it's been a while." He paused, sitting down slowly on a metal bench, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. Mike sat down next to him, and Harvey let the cobalt of Mike's gaze mix with the russet shade of his own in the blinding light of midday.

"I made it into an art, really. I learned how to control my facial muscles, how to perfectly pace my phrases, how to sell it to a sceptic…it used to be my favourite feeling, when I got it right. It was like I was untouchable, floating above the rest of the world."

"You sound like an addict," said Mike, his blue eyes tearing through the space between them.

"I am."

For a minute, Harvey let the rush of the city engulf him—it reminded him vaguely of pressing his ear to one of those oddly twisted shells that allowed you to hear the ocean. A friend of his had ruined that magic for him as a child by bringing him back down to earth and insisting the noise was just the rushing of blood in his ears being echoed. The hundreds of thousands of people reminded him of that shell, of the roar of his blood or the ocean; he had always thought of the crowds and multicultural blur as the blood of his beloved city, bringing life to all its vital organs. He had thought that in a city such as this that all people would be valued equally, as all of them had an equally important job in keeping the body alive. But he'd been mistaken.

Mike had a job much more valuable than all of theirs, one that couldn't be filled by a backup.

Mike was New York's heart.

Harvey had lived in the city for his whole life, and yet if Mike so much as toed the border it wouldn't really be home for him anymore.

The classy streets and austere alleyways would be hollow, and the sun wouldn't shine the same way. Wall Street would lose its glamour and expensive scotch its flavour—beautiful women would cease to be beautiful and suits would just be overpriced clothes. The things he loved about life would be dark and desolate, like the world had twisted itself inside out in Mike's absence. Even the things he'd loved before the kid would be worth nothing if the center piece in his puzzle was plucked out.

"I am an addict. The worst kind, too—because life without what I'm dependant on just wouldn't be worth living anymore. And yet…"

He squinted at the slight glare reflecting from the building across from him.

"…when you asked me to, I told you the truth. I could have lied to you again, like I've done to everyone else that's walked in my life, but I gave you exactly what you wanted. It half destroyed me to do it, but I did. For you. And that's what you mean to me, Mike. Because above all things, I love to lie, but I'd stop if that's what it took to make you happy."

OoOoO

Oftentimes, the problem with liars is that they expect the worst outcome from every situation—hence the reason they lie. They expect that the first time they've been dealt a bad hand it will be the hand they have to play with for the rest of their lives, that those cards are glued to their fingers and aren't just temporary pieces of paper.

Harvey expected Mike to yell. To storm off. To be disgusted.

He'd been dealt that hand before by a few too many people, however, and had come to anticipate the worst about the people he was infatuated with.

Mike didn't yell, storm off or act disgusted.

He sighed.

"Jesus, Harvey, was that so fucking hard? You spend three months soaking in angst about how you feel about me, and it only takes one conversation to sort this out."

Harvey blinked, then frowned.

"You aren't mad." He had meant for it to come out as a question, but a small voice in the back of his head insisted he shouldn't act like a complete idiot.

"Harvey," Mike said slowly, as though he was talking to a small child, "it's okay to have feelings for someone. You won't lose your membership at the asshole lawyers club."

"Thank God," said Harvey sarcastically. "I was really worried about that."

"Actually, I'm quite impressed. Given your previous track record, that was surprisingly not corny. I mean, half of the time you look at me as though you are going to start spitting lines of poetry that would make the writers of romantic comedies jealous."

"Do you honestly envision yourself as a character in a romantic comedy? Who plays you, hmm? Katherine Heigl?"

"Of course not!"

"Who, then?"

"Jensen Ackles, maybe. Or Daniel Radcliff. _You'd_ be played by a B-list actor no one's ever heard of but with a phenomenal amount of talent that later plays a secondary character in a series," Mike said soberly, nodding his head.

"Oh, I see. Have any other director-like thoughts for this awful film?"

"We'd have to have a really odd producer that puts a metaphorical spin on the whole thing—I'm thinking Kermit the Frog."

Harvey grinned, glancing to the small crinkles in the corners of Mike's eyes that formed when he gave his signature smile.

"Why are there so many songs about rainbows?"

Mike laughed, tilting his head back slightly so that his face was turned up towards the sky and the warm sunlight danced on his features. Harvey felt his stomach simultaneously drop as his heart rose into his throat, and he watched those tantalising red lips part so that teeth could peek through.

He felt the poet leak out of him again, and he swore Lord Byron was waxing in the back of his mind just to piss him off by proving Mike's metaphor. To distract himself, he tried focusing on Mike's nose—it was a nice nose, really. It suited his face. Perfectly proportioned and even to the rest of him, as though Mike was a creation that an artist had spent uncountable hours planning and executing until he was flawless. Harvey wanted to send that man a note, or meet him in person to tell him how much he appreciated his work; but at the moment, what he really longed for more urgently was to press the palms of his hands to Mike's cheeks and let his thumbs trace over his cheekbones and let his smooth lips find Mike's rough ones and envelope them. His fingers desired to know how soft Mike's hair was, his breath wanted to mingle with the other man's and his tongue craved to sample that taste.

Mike turned to look at him, still smiling as he leaned closer to Harvey, leaving only an inch or two between their faces. Harvey bridged the gap, touching their foreheads together gently in a way that was both too much and too little touch all at once. His heart was suddenly a creature, desperately pounding and crawling at his ribcage in an attempt to escape as his breath hitched and his nerves danced. He didn't feel like this often—a fox among the doves—but he had to recognise that Mike brought out both the best and the worst in him, whichever of the two this one was.

"We should head back to the firm," Mike said, and tilted his head away from Harvey, depriving him of that smell of sweet skin and faint cologne, as though Mike had tried rubbing some of Harvey's onto him and then quickly stashed the bottle back where he'd found it.

"Yeah, I guess we should," Harvey deadpanned, looking at Mike through brown and amber eyes that danced in the light.

The two stood together, taking the first few steps back towards the office, when Mike stopped.

"Oh, and Harvey?" Mike asked, his gaze filled with an unnamed emotion.

"Yes, Mike?"

Harvey felt his chin being seized firmly between two fingers and tilted down, and then suddenly his mouth was filled with Mike.

The younger associate pressed his slightly rough lips against Harvey's, letting the tender flesh touch, sending the nerves in his mouth to shut off all his other senses in favour of solely relying on sensation. Harvey captured Mike's upper lip between his, tasting the sweetness of a lingering toothpaste and the long faded aroma of freshly ground coffee. Mike let out a small moan into Harvey's mouth, and Harvey found his arms encircling Mike as though to separate him from the people passing around them. His brain had gone quiet in favour of losing itself in Mike as well, and his eyes fluttered closed until his eyelashes mixed with Mike's. Time around him came to a violent stop, and he pressed the soft fabric covering Mike's chest against the fabric that concealed his. In the stillness of the moment he could feel Mike's heartbeat pounding safely against his chest, and he wanted nothing more than to keep it for himself and protect it from the world.

His hands snaked up Mike's back and into the kid's hair, tugging at the soft strands as they wormed their way in between his fingers. He pressed his fingertips lightly into Mike's scalp, relishing the soft groan that buzzed in his mouth.

He parted his lips slightly, and suddenly found himself exploring the both carnal and ethereal feel of Mike. Their tongues twisted together in a heated embrace, only to separate slightly in favour of dancing around one another and taking in the new tastes and sensations.

A shiver ran down Mike's spine, and Harvey smiled against the kiss.

"Your place," Mike muttered in his mouth, and Harvey pulled him tighter against his figure, trying to tug Mike inside his ribcage against his heart, where Harvey felt he'd be safest.

Their mouths parted slightly, allowing the two to exhale and let their breaths mingle in the air between them. Mike's lips carried a trace of Harvey on them, and Harvey felt a distinct smile grow as he ran his thumb across Mike's bottom lip.

"I never imagined—" Harvey tried, his words getting caught on one another as his brain switched back on and desperately tried to comprehend what just happened.

Mike grinned. "Yeah. Sometimes I think reality is even better than the things we create."

Harvey smirked, wrapping a hand around Mike's elbow and tugging him in the direction of a cab.

"Sometimes."

OoOoO

**Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for reading my story, and for all your fantastic reviews.**

**I know this had its mediocre and corny moments, but you were all extremely encouraging and supportive throughout the whole thing, and for that I want to thank you for being such a great audience.**

**Special thanks to PocketPamela, Aerilex, JJLiberty and all those who took the time to review, especially the ones who did anonymously.**

**I plan on writing a comedic five times plus one sort of fic, and a more serious one where Harvey has a stalker, that I thought I might promote here. Let me know if either of these sound good, or if you'd like to hear more! **

**Thanks so much, everyone!**

**LeahxLeah**


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